Ritchie zips past an impressionistic version of the boy’s childhood — a whisked-together blur of physical abuse, childhood scheming, and fight lessons — and lands at a point where Arthur has become a streetwise, frequently shirtless Charlie Hunnam.
The battles involve ’roided-up, muscular warriors leaping through the air in slow motion, 300-style.
Arthur and his brothel buddies (Kingsley Ben-Adir and Neil Maskell) tell stories like they’re dueling to see who can spit out the most irrelevant interruptions in the most aggressive way. Ritchie plays with pacing and chronology throughout King Arthur, having Hunnam telling stories in voiceover as they comedically play out onscreen, à la Drunk History, or building the plot’s forward movement around callbacks and flashbacks, repetition and hastily built inside jokes. It’s a dizzying approach to narrative, with the writers expecting the audience to keep up as the movie shifts midstream from a what-will-happen planning session into a that-just-happened recap.
He needs to go to the dark land.
That's not gonna happen.